Eowyn's Musings
by wednesday the writer
Summary: It's just a dark swirl of Eowyn's thoughts before the arrival of "the three hunters". rated PG just to be safe.


Disclaimer: I don't own anything.  
  
"I swear, the Valar must hate me! Everything is going downhill like some sort of evil mudslide – and it is only getting worse! Gríma is just as disgusting as ever, pale and ugly and...ugh! He stalks me incessantly! Can he not see that I despise him? I fear that my rejection only fuels his repulsive advances further, which have become more and more frequent of late... I am afraid he is growing even bolder." Eowyn thought as she shuddered involuntarily, letting her lids close over her crystalline orbs, as though she were closing out the world.  
  
"It was not so terrible before, when Éomer was still here," Her expression softened somewhat, a sorrow pooling in her eyes, "but that stupid Wormtongue put him in the dungeons!" One of her jaw muscles twitched as she gripped the flask of spirits nearby, nearly puncturing it with her death grip; her fingernails left eight little dark brown crescents on the front, two light imprints on the reverse side. She heaved a heavy sigh, "I would visit him, but I know not where they have put him, for I had never bothered to ask about the dungeons. I cannot possibly ask now! It would be much too suspicious...and as utterly wretched I feel for even thinking this, I do not want to be caught alone and in a place I am not familiar with by that foul worm." Another gulp of that bitter, flaming liquid quenched her thoughts momentarily, "Were Théodred still with us, I would not feel so...so..." She suddenly growled under her breath and took several large swigs before she could change her mind, grimacing at the burning sensation and its bitter taste, but pushed herself on, yearning for that all-too-familiar state of numbness, "I do not know how I feel, but it certainly is not good. Oh, Éomer, where in Middle-earth are you?" She wiped off what was left of the vile liquid that drenched her thin, pale lips with her long, lacey, white sleeve, "That no good worm has only been getting more and more daring and Uncle is too...too blind to notice... Though, I certainly will not tell him. I...it would...I just cannot do that. Although I love Uncle much, sometimes I wish I could just slap a bit of common sense into him! He is practically eating out of the palm of Gríma's hand...or more accurately, withering..." The flask's weight was lightened once more as heat coursed through her tired body.  
  
"What little was left of his health has diminished drastically since news came from one of the surviving soldiers who fought at the Battle of the Fords of Isen...Théodred died...at the hands of an orc, no less! Oh, how it infuriates me! I DESPISE THIS! Théodred is gone! Éomer is gone! And what of father and mother...no need to even explain further! Uncle is nearly dead and hangs onto life by a thread – a mere THREAD!!  
  
"Meanwhile, Gríma sits at the High table with a golden chalice and that stupid, twisted smirk. Oh, how I desire to rip it off his hideous, wrinkled face! Why must he continue to ruin my life?! Has he not done enough already with his futile attempts to gain my favor? It is repulsive! Completely and utterly repulsive!" The golden haired woman slammed her hand on the wooden desk, the little red light above the candle jittering from the sudden motion, bright blue flames blazing in her eyes, her pale face flushed with rage and alcohol.  
  
Slowly, she breathed in, unclenching her hands, her knuckles returning to their normal color.  
  
Taking another swig from the half-empty flask, she sighed, mused,  
"I must stop this nonsensical self-pity..." She willed herself to remain upright as she stumbled to her bed, the edges of euphoria drawing closer, though not yet close enough, "but too much has happened here, in this land I once felt proud to call my home. Too many have died and this...this sordid landslide of INJUSTICE...it shall never cease – its speed only increases by the very minute." Half-lidded eyes gazed down at her fumbling hands before she threw herself backwards onto the soft, plush bed with a woosh of air, "It is only a matter of time, I fear, before the Golden Hall itself crumbles to pieces with Gríma slouching against the - ruined - throne..."  
  
A goofy smile made its way to her lips as she felt the spirits taking over, "Let him have Rohan...but I shall not be here to see it... Nay," She laughed aloud, though it was bitter and empty, "I shall not be here to see it." She looked over to her leather rucksack, set on top of a worn, oak chair, for the last time that day and whispered aloud,  
  
"At first light tomorrow, love...this will all be over..." She closed her eyes, slurring slightly, "At first light, tomorrow..."  
  
Bad ending? Good ending? Bad overall? Review, but don't flame. It doesn't really help with the story all that much... Oh and, just to take an extra precaution...I know that Eowyn didn't run away, I've read the trilogy four times, though that was about two years ago, I can still remember most of it. This is only a fanfic, so basically, I'll do what I want with it, though I'll stay within the bounds of sanity and believability. Should I keep this a one-shot fic or should I add chapters? 


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